


Revasan: The Place Where Freedom Dwells

by karahboou



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drug Withdrawal, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 12:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13054422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karahboou/pseuds/karahboou
Summary: Oneshot. Inquisitor Lavellan discovers just how severe Cullen's lyrium withdrawal is and how it reframes the way she considers their relationship.





	Revasan: The Place Where Freedom Dwells

Each heady inhale drew crisp rain into her mouth, tasting sweet and clean on her tongue. The ocean roiled on the shore below the jagged, obsidian cliffs, darkened by a sheen of glistening water. There was a severe beauty to the Storm Coast that left her invigorated, the healing burns down her neck and arms stung by the whipping wind. Sivelle turned her gaze to the cottony grey sky, eyes trained on the Inquisition messenger raven high above. She hadn’t returned to base camp for the good end of three days, and the arrival of troops to clean out the last of the Venatori hiding in the sea caves finally beckoned her back to responsibility and away from dragon hunting and reckless abandon.

As she drew closer to the high peak of the main gathering tent, a sense of anticipation bubbled in her chest. Cassandra gave her a short nod, Varric a small wave, and Solas a meaningful glance as they peeled off towards their respective tents, leaving her alone on her path. Her wet hair plastered to her neck and cheeks, she pushed the sodden auburn locks behind her ears and squared her shoulders. Clothes clinging to her skin, heavy with water, every step felt like a trudging effort. Who she would soon face left her in a complicated tangle of earnest emotion on the best days. She felt the surge of restless adrenaline like a tingle in her fingertips, closing in on the entrance and resting her hand on the flap.

Then with a heaving breath she shoved aside the fabric with a slapping mist of outward spray and was greeted by the Commander’s intimidating stature. He was bent over the table of scattered papers and half-burned candles with wax beading away from the lumpy edges.

He didn’t seem to notice her, eyes trained on something that seemed distant. The lines on his face were long and drawn, his cheeks nearly bloodless and his frown lacking the stubborn life she was so used to seeing. She moved forward slowly, anticipation hardening into a quiet fear as she leaned her weight against the surface beside him, her hand almost touching his. Small dark circles formed on the mottled wood, the ticklish drops sliding in silver trails down her forearms, streamers stemming from rolled up sleeves. A drop slipped from her jawline and landed on the back of his wrist and he started, flinching backwards as he finally noticed her.

“Cullen?” she asked a tone more gentle than she ever remembered speaking to him with, “Are you alright?”

His eyes snapped to her and focused, “Maker’s breath, I didn’t see you! Yes— you’re here! Inquisitor, ah— right I’m fine, slight headache.” He pushed his palm against his temple and squeezed his eyes shut as he blinked hard, then several times fast. She felt herself frown, worry now lacing itself around her ribs.

“‘Slight headaches’ don’t leave you swaying on your feet.” she reached forward but her outstretched hand met only air as he retreated further from her, “What’s going on?”

“Noth— we need to discuss the Venatori stragglers in the—.” he cleared his throat and sucked in a breath through his teeth, “The cave you found is at the edge of the coast, right along these crags. We can expect a full platoon in and out with little resistance, but sending in so many men while we are still in short supply would require some consideration.”

She nodded slowly, shifting her weight from side to side as she fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve, “It’s a good thing Sparky isn’t a threat anymore then.”

“Sparky?” he said, raising and eyebrow with a tiny upward twitch of his lips.

“Varric decided the Vinsomer needed a nickname while it was trying to fry us alive.” she said lightly. That earned her a soft chuckle that suddenly withered back into a pained expression. She felt her worry tug her brow into a knot, “Cullen if you aren’t feeling well—“

He cut her off, the rattling shuffle of papers dismissing the rest of the thought, “With the high dragon gone thanks to you our troops can—“ He trailed off as he shuddered and looked away.

Her eyes darted to where his hands were gripping the edge of the table, knuckles white with strain and effort. She reached over and placed her hand over the back of his, soft and concerned. Their eyes met and something panicked and embarrassed glinted in his as he looked away.

He mumbled, “I think you’ll need to excuse me.” Shaking his head vigorously he grimaced, suddenly stalking towards the exit as she nearly leaped out of the way. But when he shoved past her he staggered and she lunged forward, nearly collapsing under his weight as he slumped into her, warm against her icy, damp skin.

“Cassandra! Solas!” she screamed, shoving all her strength into keeping him upright. She felt herself straining hard as she shrugged his arm around her shoulders, lacing her fingers through his instinctively. Somewhere she registered his grasp tightening around hers in response.

The slap of footsteps over wet terrain finally revealed a frantic Cassandra at the mouth of the tent, her eyes wild.

“What—?”

“I don’t know!” Sivelle grunted, feeling her knees almost buckle under her, “Get him to Solas’ tent! Help me!“

She felt the weight finally shift as Cassandra rushed over, and together they lurched out into the downpour. She kept her gaze locked on his white, slack expression, head lolling onto her shoulder. His hair tickled and clung to her neck and she squeezed his hand tighter, panic now freezing in her veins. His fingers slowly slackened in hers and her breath caught in her throat. Her feet were sliding unsteadily through the muddy grass, unable to find purchase.

“Out of the way!” her voice was high with hysteria as Cassandra barked mirrored orders to the cluster of unwinding men in front of the fade walker’s tent. They neared the small enclosure, bursting inside clumsily and nearly falling forward as Solas jerked to his feet and helped lower Cullen to his cot.

“Solas he’s—“ she started, barely recognizing the words coming from her own mouth.

“Lethallan, be still.” he crouched at the head of the cot, pushing the sandy curling locks away from Cullen’s forehead, face pinched in concentration.

She dropped to her knees, her hands white as she clutched the thin fabric by his hand, unable to bring herself to take it between both of hers again but unable to pull away.

“Can you fix him?” she asked, the words feeling thick in her mouth.

The mage closed his eyes and she watched his mouth form a hard line. She was about to ask again when the room suddenly dropped away and harsh, blinding light seared into her vision.

She felt stabbing pain in her head, a dull ache in her muscles that quickly burned into a uniform agony. Low, bass thrumming laughter hissed right beside her ear and hazy, bloodied forms limped in her peripheral vision. She heard his voice resonate tumultuously in the space, protesting— no, begging for reprieve. Her senses were engulfed by so much ringing stimulus she felt something snapping in her. Cold fingers clawed at her cheeks and split her lip. She tasted rust and bile in her throat. She screamed.

Cassandra’s angry snarl echoed in the back of her mind, “What the hell was that?!”

And in another breath the dim world settled back around her, Cullen shaking with violent tremors before her. Her hands were clenched around his forearm, leaving red impressions on the white skin. Solas was sitting on his ankles, breathing hard. She leaned over Cullen, fluttering touch finding the sides of his face to keep his head from whipping from side to side. The contact seared under her skin and she bit back the recognition of fever.

“The fade— his dream—“ she dragged her hand across the crinkles by his eyes. Her breath was short and labored, unchecked shivers wracking her shoulders. There was so much pain, so much loss.

“It’s the lyrium withdrawal isn’t it?”, her vision swam as the memory of ringing chimes in the whiteness seemed to suddenly beckon to her enticingly.

Solas stood, stepping back, “Yes. This is not something I can physically heal. We must keep him stable until the fit is over. The only thing we can do is lower his temperature. Quickly.”

“Get him to the shoreline.” Sivelle turned in confusion to lock gazes with Cassadra, the pained command ringing in her ears, “A few of the seekers took extremely ill on a mission near Guerrin. The cold water is the fastest way.“

“Will he be alright?” she demanded.

Solas was by his side again, the tips of his index fingers at Cullen’s temples. “If we keep him stable through this… it will just be another episode. With these I suspect he is very familiar.“ She felt the rush of magic tingle in her fingertips as a soft glow of a healing spell pulsed at the points of contact. Cullen’s eyes snapped open with a gasp, unseeingly darting around as he thrashed.

“Familiar?” she echoed quietly.

Sivelle immediately looped his arm around her shoulder, slowly struggling to get him upright, feeling a groan rumble in his chest, “Cassandra, I need your help.”

Together they forced him back to his feet and she huffed exasperatedly at the effort. His tremors resonated against her, shaking her to her bones, the rain and the wind punishing on their already slow pace. He felt like fire, hissing, snapping, breaking in her arms. The water’s edge. The next minutes felt like a blur, the passing tents melding together, water in her eyes, the precarious footholds in the rain-blackened rock. Only the shock of icy water around her ankles broke the trance, a hitched gasp at the bite of the tide that touched her soles and receded into bubbling sea foam. Cullen’s half-delirious mumbling clashed cacophonously with the rush of retreating tide.

Sivelle dropped to her knees with an unceremonious splash, watching the rippling water fold around her legs as Cassandra slowly lowered him and stepped back. His head cushioned in the crook of her arm, his broad shoulders resting on her lap, the water swirling around them iridescently. She looked up to find Cassandra sitting a ways ahead with her head in her hands, leaving the two of them and the gaping expanse of the ocean.

A shiver stole through her, the waves lapping over them making a pleasant splashing sound. With a cupped palm, she scooped up some of the water and let its dribble over his forehead, smoothing the beaded droplets over his temples and cheeks. His skin was still hot under her touch, the deep flush in his cheeks recollecting the memory of her fingertip’s pressure in momentary white impressions. She let her hand cradle his face, angling him into her desperate hold.

His mouth was pinched in a grimace of pain, lips forming incoherent words and refusals. She looked over his broken features, feeling sharp pangs knot in her stomach as she watched him suffer alone. Two droplets pooled at the corner of his mouth and she swallowed hard as she felt the stinging heat blur her vision.

Her voice came tumbling forward, bunching her words together as she felt the tears slide over her lips, she wasn’t sure if the salt she tasted was the ocean or her own guilty sadness.

She felt herself shaking hard now, hushing him as she lowered her forehead to his, “I was never good at healing magic— never wished I was good at it. Thought you could just grit your teeth and tell yourself it could be worse. I thought it was useless and now— now I can’t sit here and watch you suffer… How often do you—?” Rambling rambling words. She lapsed into silence. The crash of water was too empty. She almost let a prayer tumble off her tongue to ward off the burning malevolence of the hurting.

She didn’t.

She sat there until her legs went numb and her teeth chattered, watching his restless thrashing slow and his breathing even. She ran her fingers through his sodden hair, combing the rain-tangled locks back from his face and tucking straying strands behind his ears, absently. Bent over him, her hair fell around her face like a sopping curtain, tunneling her vision on his strong features.

“I was wrong, alright? About you.” she choked out, shouting more to herself and the indifferent waters.

She traced her touch over his brow, down the bridge of his nose and over his fluttering eyelids. Her path look her across his sharp cheekbones, over the part of his lips. How many times she had begrudgingly admired his strong nose, his square jaw, his expressive brows? They were three dimensional under her touch, real, living.

“This— this… You are strong.”, she swallowed the bitter confession and weakness.

Her fingertips lingered on his jaw as she let her thoughts drift, every clear recollection of an irate, heated argument or polite conversation with just a little too much meaning weighting their words added up to a cold realization. She pulled her hand away and let it rest over his chest, feeling his thrumming heartbeat. Somewhere between Haven and Skyhold she had lost her way, stumbling into his too-serious earnestness and unassuming kindness.

She barked a harsh laugh when she saw him looking through her her rather than at her, reflexively pulling him in until her arms were wrapped around his neck and her face was buried in his shoulder. She felt his lips at her neck and the peppering of his exhales tickle her collarbone. She smoothed the hair at the back of his neck, eventually letting her palm cradle the back of his head. Rocking back and forth. Water rose to her waist, fell to her shins, blurred the contours of their forms as it engulfed them, revealed their fragility as it took its leave.

And for a moment it didn’t matter that she was holding him, that she was closer to him than she ever believed she could want, but that they were both freezing and dripping and he was somewhere in limbo hanging threads above unconsciousness.

And that this was familiar.

She sat with him until sitting became painful and the fever broke, until the rain stopped. He said her name once in a hoarse tormented sigh. She tried not to flinch at the syllables she found no longer opposed from his mouth. She hardly remembered anything except that he was eventually tugged from her arms. Then, the dim inside of Solas’ tent and the scratchy feel of his pillow on her cheek.

The tide swept out in its cyclic reliability.

* * *

 

Her feet hit the pebbles on the spongy shore with a clatter as her arms swooped forward to help her regain her balance. Her staff swung like a pendulum on her back and she reached over her shoulder to steady it. Slowly righting herself and hugging her arms to her chest, Sivelle looked out to the edge of the water. The last dregs of dusky sun disappearing behind the horizon cast a shimmer over the surface of the sea, silhouetting everything before it. She squinted up at the fast crawling clouds, stealing southward against a purpling sky, the wind smelling dry and salty.

She found him in a matter of seconds, standing with his shoulders back and his hair in an unusually wild disarray, curling by his ears. He was in casual Ferelden wear, a simple white shirt over brown breeches, the tips of his boots stained by the lapping water. Cullen looked smaller without his armor, more vulnerable.

She hesitantly drew close, stopping right by his side and looking up at his profile. His eyes were closed and his expression exhausted, but there was color in his cheeks and a steadiness in his deep breaths. He was thumbing something in his hand, arms crossed over his chest defensively. She watched the breeze play with the stray hairs that drifted back and forth over his temples, noticing the patchy, white dusting of salt from where the water dried on his jawline.

His papery eyelids fluttered and then slowly opened, gaze trained on the open sea and refusing to meet hers. His expression did not change as he spoke.

“Say something.” he murmured, so quietly she almost didn’t hear it, “Please?”

She blinked in surprise and ducked her head, toying with her hands. She came without a plan or a goal and a mess of thoughts so tangled she almost was afraid of facing him. Her focus fell again on the systematic kneading of his left hand.

“What are you holding?”

That earned her a disbelieving chuckle, “Of all the things to ask, you ask me that?”

“I want to know.” she turned to him and took his hand in both of hers, the calloused knuckles warm in her palms. She she tugged his fingers apart they revealed a clouded piece of green/grey glass, the edges smooth like a river stone. Looking up at him, she raised her eyebrows.

“It’s sea glass.” he shrugged, tipping his hand so that the small crystalline shard tumbled onto her upturned palms, “I used to collect them for Mia and bring them back on my visits home. Those were my favorite assignments away from the circle tower. She ended up making a necklace.”

“I’ve never seen it before.” she said, examining the muted color in the cool surface, “Coming here for the first time was also my first sight of the ocean.”

“It felt like pieces of something once whole that changed to something of their own. Maybe a forgotten chantry window shattered, a drunkard’s bottle, a looking glass.” A small smile played on his lips, “You can keep it if you like.“

She pulled her staff forward and plucked a a bit of string from her pocket, quickly tying it around the contours of the glass and then attaching it to the top of her staff. She felt his eyes on her, and when she leaned back to examine her handiwork something that looked dangerously close to affection had settled on his features. Summoning a rush of warm magic, she channeled the energy into her staff, feeling a burst of satisfaction when the shard began to glow a silver-white.

She watched the light play over his suddenly relaxed features, his face drawing nearer just a fraction. Those slightly downturned eyes swimming with so many thoughts, both open book and stone walls. He looked up as the glow faded. He looked dream-like in the low light, a lingering brightness that she chased as the shadows fell over the forest. She blinked and the magnetic spell did not break. It was then she noticed the distressed embarrassment when she realized he was searching her for malice, or smugness and a sadness pulsed in her chest.

“How much do you remember?” she said, nearly a whisper.

“Not much. Solas and Cassandra shouting. You shouting. Soaked in ocean water. Your cool hands on my burning forehead were soothing.” he said softly tilting his head with an apologetic shame puckering his brow, then added with a strange note to his voice, “You were crying.”

She stepped forward with as serious a look as she could manage, “Solas said you were familiar with this—“

He cut her off quickly, sternly, “It will not compromise my professionalism or my ability to do my job again—“

She reached up and placed her hand lightly on his cheek and he trailed off, closing his eyes as his mouth formed a hard line. He didn’t respond but didn’t pull back and she summoned the will to continue.

“I felt it.” she brushed some hair behind his ear and felt her lips twitch when it stubbornly fell back into place, “In the Fade. You will not let this hurt you alone. I can’t let you.”

“Because you pity me?” his eyes snapped open and he tilted his head with the bitter question, unintentionally leaning into her touch.

“Because I admire you.” she said, letting her fingers drift behind his ear, “I respect you.”

She watched his stoic consideration turn into an earnest emotion that she could only read as a mess of exasperation and hope, “How could you even— after this?”

She pulled her hand away and pushed her staff towards him, ignoring his confused wince at the offering, “Take this.”

“What?”

“Take this.” she repeated, giving the slender wood a shake. Hesitantly, he wrapped his hands around the rod, tugging it from her grasp. The glass swung like a pendulum, airily flicking between them.

She let the magic rush forward again, letting the glass flicker with light and slowly grow in intensity. She watched his eyes widen and a tinge of fear color his expression, but his grasp never slackened, his fingers still curled tight around her weapon. Bit by bit she let the glow shine brighter and brighter until the sea glass was a pastel green core of light, pulsing like a tiny star. The rod began to frost over, tendrils of ice crawling up the cylindrical grip. Cullen did not let go.

With a controlled exhale she capped the magic and felt the warmth fade from her extremities as the light winked away and left them staring at one another in the ever darkening evening.

“I don’t understand.” he said honestly, offering her staff back to her.

She placed her hands over where he held the wood, feeling an unreserved smile spread across her face.

"You told me how much you distrusted mages, and yet you didn’t let go.” she nodded towards her staff, “Whatever the sea glass was before, maybe a chantry window?… a lyrium bottle?”

She then reclaimed her staff,“ It changed to something of its own after being shaped by the tide.”

Suddenly she was wrapped in his arms, his fingers digging into her back. He was warm, solid. She couldn’t move with her staff pressed between them and her elbows crushed against his torso. But she tentatively laid her cheek on his chest and counted his breaths. She listened to his rapid heartbeat, strong beneath her ear. Stronger with his arms around her.

“Cullen, I’m sorry. For everything.” for holding him, for the apathetic ocean, for the lyrium, for his loneliness.

“I’m not.” he said simply, “I’m not.“


End file.
